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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128081">What We Owe To Each Other</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skulls_and_stripes/pseuds/skulls_and_stripes'>skulls_and_stripes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BoJack Horseman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Inspired By The Good Place, Pre-Canon, The Good Place (TV) References, wlw/mlm solidarity is getting fired because of bojack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:55:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skulls_and_stripes/pseuds/skulls_and_stripes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A horse walks into a bar. The bartender says, "Why the long face?"</p><p>The horse proceeds to explain, drunkenly, that he let his coworker get fired, which sounds bad when you say it like that, but don't worry, he's not an asshole, he only let her get fired because he already let his best friend get fired and if he didn't continue hurting people to get ahead then it would all be for nothing.</p><p>Okay, maybe he's a bit of an asshole.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bojack Horseman &amp; Herb Kazzaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What We Owe To Each Other</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>anyway I saw online somewhere that the fact that bojack's apology letter to Kelsey in "fish out of water" also apologised for never calling her proved that he had at least learned *something* from herb, and this happened</p><p>also lowkey ive wanted to have a BoJack Horseman fic that could have a summary starting with the "A horse walks into a bar and the bartender says, why the long face?" joke, but I put it off until after season 6b was released in case that was how the whole show ended, and when 6b was released the 14th episode gave me the idea to write my other fic The Horse Was Lost, so it took me until now to get around to it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Glasses clink against each other. Everywhere you turn, you can see the familiar patterns of matted fur, dirtied with drinks and dirt and God knows what else. There’s a distinct smell in the air, a mix of several different alcoholic drinks, intertwined with sweat and vomit to create a scent that forces anyone to scrunch up their nose, no matter the severity of the cold or blocked sinuses they may experience. The bartender wipes a bench, glancing around at the room.</p><p>The customer that arrives is a familiar one. He’s familiar, of course, because he’s famous -- his distinctive brown fur and white diamond seems to spark a drunken, slurred chorus of “Hey, aren’t you the horse from <em> Horsin’ Around?” </em> The bartender, however, likes to think he knows him a little better than all of his fans. BoJack Horseman is a regular customer, rarely going two days without stopping by for a drink or several after work with his coworker. The bartender feels the same strange combination of concern and affection that he does for all of his regulars, all the ones that seem to visit just a little <em> too </em>often to be healthy, and almost always already drunk before they arrive.</p><p>But a customer’s a customer, so he doesn’t take it upon himself to tell BoJack that he might be an alcoholic.</p><p>BoJack’s face makes the bartender frown, though. He’s staring down at his shoes, and when he stumbles forward, he has none of his usual bounce, the thing that convinces the bartender that even his more obviously alcoholic customers are at least stable enough to pretend to be fine, and therefore he doesn’t need to feel guilty about enabling them. He staggers to a seat -- he’s <em> way </em>more drunk than usual, and if he wasn’t getting paid he’d refuse to serve him, but a customer’s a customer -- and sighs sadly.</p><p>The bartender frowns. “Why the long face?”</p><p>BoJack just raises an eyebrow. He opens his mouth, presumably to tell him to shut up and give him a goddamn drink, then closes it, frowning. He looks up at a sign above the bartender’s head, the one that proudly proclaims that one can receive a free drink on their birthday. “I’d, uh…” he slurs. “I’d like a bourbon, please. For free. It’s my birthday.”</p><p>“Sure,” says the bartender optimistically. “Can I just see some ID?”</p><p>“No!” snaps BoJack, suddenly furious and defensive, waving his arms aggressively.</p><p>It’s the bartender’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Why not?”</p><p>“Because it’s not actually my birthday,” snarls BoJack. “I just want a free drink.”</p><p>The bartender groans internally -- isn’t this guy some rich actor? -- but attempts to reason with him. “Well, if I gave a free drink to anyone who wanted one, my place would go out of business pretty quickly, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>“Then don’t give a free drink to everyone,” says BoJack, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Just give one to <em> me. </em> Because it’s my <em> birthday.” </em></p><p>“You <em> just </em>said it isn’t.”</p><p>“Ugh, you know what?” says BoJack, in the voice of a customer that is about to throw a tantrum. He digs his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans and takes out a credit card, which he flicks toward the bartender in a way that presents a huge hazard of it being stolen or lost. <em> “Take </em>the stupid money. Currency is stupid anyway. Just get me a goddamn drink.”</p><p>The bartender gets out his card reader to charge him. “What’s up?” he asks gently. “Had a shitty day?”</p><p>“Ugh, tell me about it,” says BoJack, starting to calm down a little now that he knows he’s getting his drink. “My coworker got fired.”</p><p>“The one you usually come here with?” asks the bartender as he gives the card back.</p><p>“Shut the hell up,” says BoJack in a tone that clearly seems to imply that he’s right as he takes the card. He pauses. “Can I have two drinks, but, like, can I have one of them be free?” </p><p>The bartender sighs as he hands BoJack a single bottle. “I can’t just give free drinks out. This place has rules.”</p><p>“Ugh, rules are <em> stupid,” </em>whines BoJack. </p><p>The bartender knows he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he can’t resist it. He grew up as a goody-two-shoes in high school in a class full of rebellious students that got away with rule-breaking and bullied him when he snitched, and he never got over it. “Well, you’ve got to have rules. Otherwise everyone would just go around doing whatever they wanted.”</p><p>“Fine,” snaps BoJack. “If we <em> need </em> rules so goddamn much, then here are the rules, okay? Here are <em> my </em> rules.” He attempts to open the bottle and instead manages to cut his finger. “Rule one, I get to do whatever I want, and none of you can stop me because I’m famous.” He hands the bottle back with the goal of the bartender opening it for him. “Rule two, if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with my lawyers.” He takes the opened bottle back. “Rule three, no more stupid-ass sitcoms that are <em> obviously </em> ripoffs of <em> Horsin’ Around. </em> Seriously, have you <em> seen </em>the one with the dog?”</p><p>“Those aren’t <em> rules,” </em> protests the bartender, pursing his lips. “That’s just you doing whatever the hell you want and <em> saying </em>they’re rules.”</p><p>“Pfft, isn’t that all anyone’s rules are?” He takes a swig. “My dad had a rule against imaginary friends. At the time he said it was because they were communist propaganda or whatever, but I dunno…” He shakes his head. “Ugh, whatever. If you think my rules aren’t <em> good enough, </em>then let’s see you come up with something better.”</p><p>The bartender glances anxiously around the crowded room. Nobody seems to be in need of service right now, so he lets himself indulge in a little conversation. “Well, rules are what we need to have for a society to function. The idea of a <em> society </em> is that everyone gives up a little bit of their freedom for a little bit of safety -- you lose your <em> freedom </em> to go around shooting people, but you’re <em> safe </em>because nobody else is allowed to shoot you either.”</p><p>“Yeah,” interrupts BoJack. “That’s why we have <em> laws </em>and shit. But what about just giving your favourite customer slash famous actor a free drink or two? That’s not illegal.”</p><p>“The same concept works on a smaller scale,” explains the bartender. “Like, for example, you lose your <em> freedom </em> to get free drinks whenever you want, but you’re a little <em> safer </em>because you know that people can’t just come in and demand that you give them free drinks.”</p><p>“People do that <em> all the time,” </em>snaps BoJack, waving a hand dismissively. “That coworker that got fired, she made me buy her drinks all the time. ‘Course, she was kinda underpaid and I’m stupid goddamn rich, but the point still stands.” He downs the rest of his bottle at a concerning speed. “Speaking of which, can I get another drink?”</p><p>With an irritated sigh, the bartender grabs another drink, but doesn’t give it to BoJack just yet. “It applies to other things too. Like, I might get fired if I give you this drink for free. But a few mates of mine have agreed that if one of us gets fired, the others all threaten quit, and hopefully the manager takes that decision back because he needs <em> some </em> staff.” BoJack tries to grab the bottle and he dodges his hand. “We give up our <em> freedom </em>to keep working here, but we’re all safer, because we trust that we probably won’t lose the job if something happens.”</p><p>BoJack’s face seems to fall, but only for a second. <em> “Or,” </em> he says venomously, making another swipe for the drink. “I have the <em> freedom </em> to do whatever the hell I want at work, and I’m <em> safe </em>there because I’m the star of the show and they can’t fire me, and everyone else can go shove a cactus up their ass.”</p><p>The bartender frowns. “So you don’t think you owe <em> anything </em> to your coworkers? Even the people that made the show in the first place?” <br/><br/>Once again, BoJack seems to falter slightly, seems to look sad once more. “Oh, I owe them a <em> shit-tonne. </em>But it’s like, uh…” He waves a hand vaguely as his drunken mind tries to remember what he’s referring to. “Archduke Franz Ferdinand.”</p><p>The bartender narrowly avoids laughing, and a smile spreads across his face involuntarily. “What?”</p><p>“Y’know, that guy that got assassinated or whatever. And then there was a war over it. It was, like, a whole thing.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, that happened, and Germany had to pay reparations, which was totally bullshit. But then this absolute <em> shithead </em> comes along and he’s all like, screw it, this is <em> way </em>too much to pay off, let’s just invade Poland and kill six million Jews.”</p><p>The bartender blinks. “So … you know that you owe your coworkers, but you’re not going to make an effort to repay them because … <em> Hitler </em>didn’t?!”</p><p>“Mm-hmm,” says BoJack, satisfied.</p><p>The bartender frowns. Part of him is saying to abandon this discussion now, because he’s arguing with an incredibly drunk rich famous dude, who seems like an absolute <em> dickhead, </em> and also seems to be using Adolf Hitler as a role model for morality. But he finds himself continuing. “But if you don’t respect your coworkers even after they help you, that sets a precedent where <em> nobody </em> owes anyone <em> anything. </em>How would you like it if you put a lot of effort into helping someone, and then they stabbed you in the back?”</p><p>BoJack scoffs. “Simple. I wouldn’t put effort into helping some shithead that might betray me.”</p><p>The look the bartender gives him is one of absolute disgust. “BoJack,” he says, addressing the horse by name for the first time. “If you won’t help people, then you’re not a good person.”</p><p>“Whatever.” He makes another lunge to steal the drink, and fails yet again. “I already know I’m a massive dick. Thing is, when Sharona got her stupid ass fired, I realised it’s too late, y’know? After I’ve hurt so many people to get ahead, I have to keep hurting more people to get ahead, otherwise it’ll all be for nothing.”</p><p>The bartender raises an eyebrow. “Who’s Sharona?”</p><p>“The coworker that got fired. Hair and makeup artist. ‘Course, I can’t <em> tell </em> you what happened, but basically I screwed up and made her take the fall for it.” At the bartender’s disgusted gape, he adds, “But don’t worry, see. I <em> had </em> to let her get fired, because a while back my best friend was gonna get fired for being gay and I promised I’d threaten to walk, but then I chickened out at the last minute. So, you see, now I <em> can’t </em> get fired, or he’ll have gotten fired for nothing and that’d <em> suck.” </em></p><p>The bartender hesitates for a long time, then sighs. “Have you apologised to him?”</p><p>“Pfft, too late now, huh? There’s no way he’d accept my apology. What’s done is done.” He sighs. “Heh, wouldn’t it be neat if time wasn’t so … line-y? Like, what if it moved in a, I dunno…” His eyes widen. “A Jeremy Bearimy!”</p><p>The bartender can’t suppress the laugh that rises up in his mouth, but he stifles it after a few seconds. <em> “What?!” </em></p><p>“Like,” explains BoJack drunkenly, gesturing wildly. “If instead of moving in a straight line, it was all curvy and loop-de-doopy, and it’d look like it says Jeremy Bearimy in cursive, heh.”</p><p>The bartender tries to visualise a “timeline” by this description. “But wouldn’t the Bearimy have an <em> I </em> in it?” he asks. “I mean, all of the looping around would just be things repeating, but what would the dot on the <em> I </em>be?”</p><p>“Tuesdays,” answers BoJack without missing a beat. He sighs. “But ugh, everything happens after all the shit that happened before it. Stupid. So now it’s too late to un-betray my best friend, so I’ve just gotta be a dick forever so that it’s not for nothing.”</p><p>The bartender frowns. “You can’t just be a dick forever,” he protests. “You’ll feel <em> guilty.” </em></p><p>“Guilty?” repeats BoJack, as though the word is foreign to him, as though it’s not the obvious motivation for his near-constant drinking.</p><p>“That voice in the back of your head,” explains the bartender gently. “The one that tells you not to be rude to people, or not to steal money, or not to demand free drinks. Won’t it nag at you, if you don’t make an effort to be good?”</p><p>BoJack scoffs. “Yeah, I <em> would </em> have to write to Herb and apologise, but I’m too messed up to be good, okay? I’m rude as shit, and if I see money I take it even though I’m rich, and I <em> demand </em>that drink. So there’s no point.” </p><p>He lunges across the counter and successfully grabs the bottle. With a wicked grin, he stands up and staggers outside. The bartender sighs, but goes back to wiping the bench. One day he’ll serve BoJack again undoubtedly, and they’ll mutually pretend not to remember that conversation. BoJack might even genuinely forget, with the state he’s in.</p><p>A customer’s a customer, after all.</p><hr/><p>He’s on his way to his car after a tough day of filming when his foot kicks something. It skids away, coming to a halt as it hits a crack in the pavement, and it’s not until it stops that he can see what it is. The sight of it makes him instinctively check his pockets, but it’s not his wallet that’s lost; it’s a cheaper variety, made of old and cracked material, and grey instead of brown. </p><p>He glances up and down the street, to see if he has any witnesses. When he finds none, he bends down and picks it up.</p><p>If he had kidded himself into thinking the wallet itself was only so well-worn because of sentimentality, the contents make it clear that the owner is not a rich man. The driver’s license is long since expired and bent in one area, but the presence of an obviously new membership card for some stupid-ass club proves that it’s not simply an old, abandoned wallet. A quick glance over a business card that presumably belongs to the owner reveals that he has a small business making cards, which is probably why he’s poor, what a stupid-ass job. Still, he manages to find a hundred bucks, which he takes out of the wallet and begins to put in his pocket.</p><p>The voice in his head doesn’t give him any specific critique. It doesn’t say, <em> you don’t need that money but the owner might, </em> or <em> you have an ID card and a business card from this guy, you can find him, if you just take the cash without trying to give it back then you’re just stealing. </em> It says, plain and simple and exasperated, <em> God, BJ, you’re an asshole. </em></p><p>This, of course, is not news. BoJack is an asshole. He is perfectly aware of this, and he doesn’t care, as long as he can distract himself with work and alcohol and self-sabotage. BoJack is an asshole, and he is going to continue being an asshole by taking this money, and he doesn’t care how dickish that is.</p><p>He starts to put the money in his pocket. His hand freezes up.</p><p>“...God <em> damn </em>it,” he mutters aloud.</p><p>He returns the cash to the wallet, takes out the guy’s ID, and begins his quest to find him.</p><hr/><p>It’s six in the morning when he wakes up. He groans sleepily and rubs his eyes. He’s used to waking up this early, and it happens automatically, even when he <em> really </em> needs an extra hour or two. He was up late last night talking to Sharona, ranting about that absolute <em> asshole </em> who can’t be friends with <em> one </em>goddamn person without letting them get fired to further his own career. </p><p>It’s a chilly morning, and he manages to find a jacket before he goes outside. He rubs his eyes again. God, when did he go to sleep last night? He hung up on Sharona a bit before eleven, but it probably took him longer than usual to get to sleep, after his heart was pounding with fury and resentment. </p><p>He unlocks his front door and goes out to check the mail. Bill, bill, bill, newspaper, bill, bill, some invitation to a local club, bill, letter from Charlotte, bill, bill, letter.</p><p>The final letter doesn’t have Charlotte’s familiar handwriting, and his half-closed eyes are too sleepy to read the sender, so he takes it inside without knowing who it’s from or if it’s important. He dumps the bills on the table. He dumps the stupid club invite. He tries to skim the newspaper, but he knows he’ll have to read it again after a coffee. He manages to read through Charlotte’s brief letter, because most of it is just an explanation for the context behind the photo attached, showing her new boyfriend, Kyle. He tears open the final letter.</p><p>The contents make him squirm. It makes him tremble head to toe, furst with fury, then with something resembling fear, which is stupid, because there’s <em> nothing </em> to be scared of, but it brings him back to those anxiety-inducing hours he spent waiting and hoping and <em> praying </em>that his best friend had kept his promise. And in some bizarre, twisted way, it makes him smile.</p><p>
  <em> Dear Herb, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In this terrifying world, all we have are the connections we make. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry I let you get fired. I’m sorry I never called you after. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -BoJack </em>
</p>
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